Outdoor Dining

It is not the fact that I had a meal at Vinoteka, a restaurant in Bishkek with a blissfully relaxing ambience, that is important. Nor is it the wonderful pasta with olive oil, garlic, parmesan, and red chili peppers that is the point of this post. 

It is the reality that the season of outdoor dining has arrived that is essential and fills me with great joy. 

Eating all'aperto, or out in the open, is an experience I relish more with each passing year. Oh, and by the way, be careful about using the Italian term, al fresco, for your outdoor dining. When I lived in Italy, I was told by some that the phrase al fresco is, in many parts of Italy, a reference to spending time in jail.

At Vinoteka

The Art of Self-Deprecation

I love this story Abraham Lincoln told about himself as a way of talking about one of his perceived weaknesses, his personal appearance........

One day I was riding along a mountain trail on my horse.

From the other direction came a woman on her horse.

"I do believe you are the ugliest man I have ever seen," she said. 

"That may be true, madam, but there's not much I can do about it," I replied.

"No, perhaps not, but you might at least stay home." 

...........Lincoln was a master of self-deprecation, the art of knocking one's self down a notch or two before others do it to you first. I think about Lincoln, perhaps our greatest president, and then I contemplate the current resident of the White House who has, to my knowledge, never uttered a single self-deprecating remark in his life. It has caused me to realize, as I think about other amazing (and evil!) people in history, that self-deprecation can be a marker of greatness and the lack of it can be a marker of something far worse.

Think about it: the collection of Hitler, Stalin, and Pol Pot's self-deprecating remarks might not even consist of a single sentence. Yet one can find numerous examples of self-deprecating remarks from the John F. Kennedys and George Washingtons of the world. And this art of self-deprecation goes beyond the political realm too--for example, Einstein and Gandhi, extraordinary men, were also known for their self-deprecating tendencies. Perhaps this is another reason why Trump, a man who is self-deprecation phobic, frightens me so.

I even ponder people I have come across in my personal and professional lives and realize that those I've encountered who avoid self-deprecation entirely have often been people who have a detrimental impact on those around them. It is almost as though self-deprecation, when gentle and in proper proportion, can serve as an indicator of healthy self-analysis; perhaps self-deprecation is a sign of having come to terms with one's weaknesses and is an acknowledgement that self is not where all the answers lie. Self-deprecation is also a subtle way we gain rapport with others because it tells them that they have importance because we can recognize that our own sense of personal importance isn't always paramount.

Of course, self-deprecation isn't always a noble virtue as those who play games of cards against me might realize how it can be used as a mostly ineffective tactic to deceive one's opponent. Similarly, I can remember years ago when I ran track, telling my opponents before our races about how I could barely walk because of my sore hamstrings or painful calves. I received sinister joy in doing whatever I could to defeat these opponents and reveled from the pleasure that came from receiving comments after races like, "yeah right, sore hamstrings my ass..." But perhaps insincere efforts at self-deprecation in the heat of competition can sometimes be excused.

Despite those who occasionally misuse or overuse self-deprecation, it still remains, I think, a marker that can inform us deeply about those in power and who they are as people and how they have overcome their personal flaws. In this world of trash talking, verbal assaults, and tirades of insult heaped on others, I crave and search for those well-versed in mild self-deprecation knowing that they just might possess the human qualities and virtues of those capable of rising above the insecurities and frailties of self.

My Lunchtime View

A couple days ago, the weather was reasonably pleasant and I joined students and co-workers at one of our tables where a group can have lunch outside.

This was our lunchtime view. If you zoom in or look super carefully, what appear to be random dots on the hillside are actually horses and sheep. While dining we could hear young lambs bleating in the distance.

Yes, it isn't the Ritz-Carlton, and we aren't dining on trendy Asian-fusion dishes, or braised duck with wilted kale salad. But sitting in the fresh mountain air, eating a simple meal of chicken and rice, while watching Springtime unfurl is a luxury that not many in the world can enjoy.

Lunch at the Naryn Campus

Clarinets at High Altitude

As I type this I am listening to a Israeli jazz clarinetist based in Manhattan named Anat Cohen play a song called "In the Spirit of Baden", a Brazilian-inspired piece with a cool Latin feel. Before that I was listening to Moonglow, a haunting old Benny Goodman selection from the 1930s. And also on play list this evening was a Klezmer clarinet standard called Hava Naglia--Klezmer is a Yiddish/Jewish pre-jazz orchestral fusion that traces its roots to the 19th Century and Eastern Europe.

Since moving to Kyrgyzstan, I've adopted the incredibly strange habit of tuning into clarinet music. I feel as though I have morphed into Sponge Bob's friend Squidward. At one time in my life, I was very much like Squidward as my parents coerced me into playing in the school band for several years...why they chose the clarinet for me I do not know. It was certainly not the manly musical instrument I was hoping for--I would have just as soon pounded on a bass drum or lugged around a sousaphone. So, from fifth through tenth grades, I squawked and honked around ineptly on my old plastic Leblanc clarinet until I wore my parents down enough with my years of endless complaining and musical incompetence and finally they allowed me to drop out of band.

It must be the altitude. That is the reason I give here in Naryn for any inexplicable behavior I engage in. Listening to clarinet music joins the list of altitude-induced peculiarities that have overtaken me. Yet, decades removed from playing the clarinet in the school marching band that performed the Bowdish Junior High School Fight Song 883 times in one year, I suddenly have a new appreciation for the slender black instrument that is almost extinct today, unlistened to and unappreciated by modern audiences.

Listening to bad clarinet playing is like being stuck in the center seat on a transatlantic flight between two shrieking babies or enduring the endless cries of an injured goose or other pained waterfowl. But the clarinet well-played can be a beguiling treat--the low register the smooth and soothing tune of a snake charmer, the higher registers possessing an intensity that can drive a melody to a fierce conclusion.

Living in the Kyrgyz mountains, some say, can be a challenge with its lengthy winter and slowish pace. Yet somehow I manage, listening to a clarinet tune or two each evening, wondering how odd, newly-acquired habits can feel so nurturing and sustaining.

Listen to Anat Cohen:

https://youtu.be/nQQk9U77jeM

https://youtu.be/O4-49T5TNYo

Anat Cohen in concert

Mercy

Mercy is a concept I have been thinking a great deal about lately. I thought about it when I saw that the State of Arkansas was rushing hurriedly to execute convicted murderers because of some technicality where the drug they use to kill these people might no longer be available.

One of those to be executed had clearly been transformed during his time on Death Row and had understood the evil in his act and displayed contrition and empathy toward his victims. Yet, he was executed nonetheless. When we fail to show mercy, do we begin to acquire a moral culpability similar to those upon whom we exact our revenge?

I have also thought about mercy because this issue has intersected my daily existence. Yes, I understand that people deserve punishment for misdeeds, but I wonder if mercy and punishment might be conjoined twins--when one is nourished at the expense of the other, the entire body runs the risk of harm. When I look at the chaos and misery in the world, now and throughout history, somehow I feel our failures as a species have not come because of our inability to distribute punishment, but rather because we do not have the wisdom or the courage to give out mercy in those situations when it has the power to actually build and strengthen relationships between people. Consider the most evil people in the annals of human history: do we brand these people evil because they possessed mercy in excess?

As I sit and write, I realize that I almost never hear the word mercy spoken, nor do I ever hear discussions of how we can incorporate mercy into our daily lives or into the life of our communities. It is a failing of humanity, a reason for our planet's sad condition, and an indictment of how badly those who claim to follow faith traditions have lived up to the standards of mercy to which virtually all religions aspire. It is also no accident that the concept of mercy is completely absent from the rhetoric of our current leader and his followers--without mercy, moral leadership and a just society cannot occur.

I see absolutely no hope that an outbreak of mercy will overrun the planet any time soon. However, we are responsible for the few square kilometers each of us inhabit, and in our tiny spaces let us all consider how we might incorporate mercy into our daily lives and into the lives of others, because the capacity for mercy, as much as any trait humans possess, is the one capacity that defines us as transcendent beings, beyond the ordinary world.

Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.